Steam billows from her warm, pink tongue,
waiting for the winter's first touch.
Alive and pulsing, her heart beats.
Her eyes flicker in the biting wind.
Trees bend under the might of the storm,
but still-
she waits.
She waits for beauty, too brief to behold,
It kills the tender green leaf; nothing stays gold,
This untouchable diamond,
delicate crystalline,
star's tears,
that no hand can ever smear.
But she waits.
Oh this child.
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